


A Word (or Two) of Caution

by arbitraryallegory



Series: Cautionary Tales [1]
Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: M/M, my spy guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 21:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7239295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitraryallegory/pseuds/arbitraryallegory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miyoshi was fluent in nine languages and conversational in five more besides, so there was really no reason why the sight of one Lieutenant Sakuma, shirtless and dripping all over the dilapidated floors of the East Asia Cultural Society, should render him utterly incapable of intelligent speech. He was going to have very strong words with himself, just as soon as he stopped staring. </p><p>(or: This is the most self-indulgent rubbish you will read today, I guarantee it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Word (or Two) of Caution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dessertarianism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dessertarianism/gifts).



> This is for one of my mutuals on tumblr, who asked for "sakuma/miyoshi where miyoshi is the one who's flustered for once," which I mean technically yes. I did that. But also 4500 words of other stuff that I just felt like, so anyway I HOPE YOU LIKE IT MY FRIEND, VERBINGWEIRDSLANGUAGE. IS IT WEIRD THAT I JUST ALWAYS CALL YOU VERBY IN MY HEAD?

Miyoshi was fluent in nine languages and conversational in five more besides, so there was really no reason why the sight of one Lieutenant Sakuma, shirtless and dripping all over the dilapidated floors of the Greater East Asia Cultural Society, should render him utterly incapable of intelligent speech. He was going to have very strong words with himself, just as soon as he stopped staring.

“Did you have a nice swim?” someone asked, amused. Oh, it was him. All that training in mental discipline was good for something after all, though it wasn’t quite helping with his staring problem.

Sakuma’s teeth were audibly chattering, likely owing to the unseasonably cool temperatures they were having this early in autumn. Miyoshi had to suppress his own shiver of delight at the ferocious scowl Sakuma directed at him. He stomped past without a single word and straight up the stairs, where a door slammed a moment later. There were very few things that could make Sakuma abandon the veneer of polite civility he usually wore, and Miyoshi was glad to have seen it this time—and not least for the enticing visual.

“Un-be-lievable,” Hatano said dryly, closing the door and shaking off his own chill.

Miyoshi made a questioning noise, not really paying attention. He wondered if he should offer to warm the bath for Sakuma. Either he’d refuse with stiff politeness, already becoming ashamed of his earlier behavior, or he’d continue with his tantrum—either was acceptable.

“He beat my record.” Hatano was obviously sulking; he wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“He _is_ military,” Miyoshi reminded him mildly. “And fit, at that. We already knew he’d do well in the physical arena. I don’t remember Yuuki ever making _us_ walk home wet and shirtless, though.” Still mild, but with a question behind it that could very easily turn to censure. They wanted to test Sakuma’s limits, not break him.

Hatano shrugged. “It’s not like it’s the dead of winter, when _we_ had to do it. I don’t think that’s why he’s in such a sour mood anyway. He and Yuuki argued about something when he finished. I couldn’t hear what they said, but afterward the Lieutenant hightailed it back here in a snit.”

“Is that so?” It was certainly enough to pique his curiosity. “Well then, I think I should go help the Lieutenant warm up, hm?”

Hatano rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable,” he repeated as he left the room.

Miyoshi was halfway up the steps when the door opened again, admitting Yuuki, and he wavered between continuing on or waiting to see if his boss had anything to say to him. On one hand, Miyoshi loved being in on the plot. On the other hand, Sakuma in a rage was a rare opportunity. He’d almost decided to continue on, when Yuuki took it out of his hands.

“Miyoshi. Come to my office.”

Well, that settled it. Miyoshi allowed himself one regretful glance up the staircase, then followed Yuuki to the suite of rooms on the lower level that housed both his office and his personal quarters.

“Lieutenant Sakuma seems to be in a mood,” Miyoshi began, carefully slouching in his seat so as not to wrinkle his suit. He wanted to affect unconcern, not seriously look like a slob. “Hatano said the two of you had words.”

Yuuki waited until he was seated and arranged to his liking to answer. A pause that was not sharp enough for rebuke, but pointed enough to let Miyoshi know that Yuuki would be the one leading this conversation. _Message received_ , Miyoshi thought with no little exasperation.

“What do you think of the Lieutenant’s performance so far?” Yuuki asked finally.

Miyoshi frowned. “I think his results have been very impressive, for a graduate of the war college,” he began cautiously, “Though he’s still stubbornly narrow-minded about some things. Mainly to do with his perception of morality.”

“Morality, huh?” Yuuki murmured. Miyoshi wondered if he imagined the smile that flitted across Yuuki’s face for a fraction of a second, but discarded the idea. It was below him to second-guess his own senses, so he’d tuck the strange occurrence away to analyze later, like he did everything else. “You think he’s too idealistic to be a spy,” Yuuki concluded, even though Miyoshi had said no such thing.

“I think he’s a very good soldier,” Miyoshi countered, unable to keep himself from averting his eyes and hating that weakness, because it was an honest one. It was _rude_ to just cut through his carefully spun bullshit like that. “I’m not certain how well that will translate to the missions he’ll have to complete as one of us.” He didn’t say, _You know what happens when military men play spy just as well as I do, old man_ , but it weighed heavily in the air between them.

“When I proposed D-Agency, I faced fierce opposition from leaders within the military. I was called dishonorable, and my tactics were seen as cowardly—anathema to the ideals of our era. Those voices boomed even louder when I refused to allow a single graduate of the Army War College through my doors. It was a damn annoying cacophony.”

“Indeed.” Miyoshi already knew all this, or had surmised it anyway. Someone as intelligent as he, existing both within and without the military infrastructure, could not fail to pick up on the prevalent attitudes, nor on how unpopular they were, their leader in particular.

“I refused to compromise, and in the end I was able to preserve the integrity of my vision for this place as a spy academy free of the influence of those useless simpletons, albeit at significant budgetary cost. Why, then, do you suppose I made an exception for Lieutenant Sakuma now? You must have discussed it amongst yourselves.”

“The others all think you’ve gone a bit mad. Or that it’s hubris, attempting to accomplish the impossible. It changes depending on how irritated they are with Sakuma at the moment.”

“And what do you think?”

Miyoshi tilted his head in a way he knew was charmingly arrogant. He’d practiced to make it so. “I don’t really care, as long as it doesn’t get me killed or imprisoned. But I suppose, if pressed, I’d have to say it’s some complicated game of double joker with the higher ups. Get the dog sent to spy on you to turn on his masters and use him to get blackmail material, or something along those lines.”

Miyoshi probably didn’t think that, but he hadn’t altogether ruled it out either, and it was the most obvious answer. Therefore, Yuuki throwing his head back and laughing was a bit uncalled for, in his opinion. It wasn’t _that_ stupid an idea. Miyoshi was quite taken aback and insulted, though he hid it well. _You sound like a dog barking_ , he thought meanly. _How unpleasant!_

“No, Sakuma is as useless as a spy inside the military as he ever was. It seems he’s lost whatever thoughtless favor his years of blindly devout service had granted him, if any. As a First Lieutenant he wouldn’t have been privy to much sensitive information to begin with. Now they’re wary of him.” He almost sounded proud.

Miyoshi struggled for a bit. He _liked_ Sakuma, ascetic prickliness and all, but he couldn’t imagine that Yuuki’s reasons for inviting him into D-Agency were the same. To him, Sakuma was a bit like a new toy, or rather a beautifully complex and contradictory puzzle. Just as soon as he thought he had a complete picture, a few more pieces appeared and he had to figure out where they fit in with the rest. It was ever changing, and thus never boring.

He was also very nice to look at. And if Miyoshi had the odd fantasy about how fantastic it would feel, pinned by all that raw power, well—no one could prove it, could they?

He shook off the impending glaze of lust and really considered. What would Yuuki expect from Sakuma?

“You,” he began slowly, gathering and discarding thoughts as he spoke, “don’t really think he’s true spy material either, do you? He’s come a long way from where he was when he first arrived, but there are some of our ways he simply will never be able to fully accept and that will stall his growth as a spy eventually. A spy who would rather break than bend with the wind is useless.”

“I wonder what role a military man with all the training of a spy could possibly play in our little agency?” Yuuki pondered, irony dripping from every word.

“You’re training him to be _you_?” Miyoshi blurted, then cut himself off, teeth clicking audibly. He slumped further in his seat, dismayed.

“After a fashion,” Yuuki confirmed, ignoring the outburst. “A handler. Eight is a bit much, even for me. I never dreamed so many of you would make it through the trials.”

Yuuki leaned back in his chair with a sigh, as though their _excellence_ was a burden to him. After a moment he continued, “There will be casualties, even before this idiotic war begins. Some of you will probably die, but I won’t make it as easy as the higher-ups would like. I would never leave any of you in the hands of someone I didn’t trust to want you to live as much as you want to live. The annoying traits that make Sakuma a bullheaded moron are the same traits that make him the only acceptable choice. Do you understand?”

Miyoshi wondered if he really did. Then it clicked.

Yuuki was the same as him after all, in some ways. Miyoshi could see how the contradictions— _disapproving of D-Agency’s methods, yet not scrupling to use underhanded tactics himself when he discovered his superior’s set-up—_ and complexities— _demonstrating a willingness to accept his own death, but not before he’d done everything in his power to avert it_ —that made Sakuma such an interesting puzzle could also make him appealing to Yuuki. That unbending sense of fairness that would both cripple him as a spy and eventually stunt his upward mobility in the Army, would actually make him the perfect liaison between a spy and those who would think spies were nothing but expendable assets. His fierce pride and determination to see any job through, even distasteful ones, would make him nearly incorruptible. Miyoshi could almost see it: a different sort of handler than Yuuki, but no less dependable. “We need him,” he said softly.

Yuuki gave a brief nod. “Just so. But the Lieutenant refuses to see reason.” He reached into his desk and pulled out a sheaf of papers, which he set before Miyoshi and tapped twice. “He’s being reassigned. I’ve delayed as long as I can, but by the end of this month he’ll be out of my reach.”

“Unless?” Miyoshi prompted.

“I can call in my remaining favors at General Staff to make his post here permanent. However, my attempts to persuade him to allow me to do so have been…less than successful.”

“You don’t actually require his permission, do you?”

“Just how cooperative do you suppose Sakuma will be if he imagines I’ve entrapped him?”

Miyoshi thought about Sakuma’s reaction to the Joker Game and conceded the point. “You think I can convince him?” he ventured uncertainly. He and Sakuma weren’t exactly close, despite Miyoshi’s best efforts.

“I think if anyone can, it’s you,” Yuuki retorted, that strange smile making another brief appearance.

Miyoshi stood, already turning over plans and ideas. “I’ll give it my best shot. Sir.” With a careless salute that would probably make Sakuma faint dead away, he took his leave.

*** 

Sakuma found Miyoshi in the second floor lobby later that evening, still mulling over the information he’d received that afternoon. Of course Miyoshi was waiting for him, though from the outside it looked like he was simply enjoying a book and a tumbler of brandy. He even made sure to turn the page at regular intervals because, _‘a spy must always assume he is being observed_.’

“Where are the others?” Sakuma asked, going directly for the rice wine, as he always did when he was in the mood for a drink. Miyoshi grimaced inwardly. They really had to work on broadening his horizons, if only so Miyoshi’s own palate didn’t suffer by association.

“Out,” Miyoshi replied belatedly, closing his book on his index finger.

“You didn’t feel like joining in? That explains the lack of invitation for once.” Even with his back turned, the note of amusement in Sakuma’s voice was readily apparent. It caused Miyoshi’s own lips to curve in response.

“As a matter of fact, I thought a quiet night in would be just the thing.” His smirk grew when first the bottle, then what was definitely not a proper sake cup appeared on the table. “Thirsty?” he asked lightly.

“Parched,” Sakuma mumbled. The first half-glass disappeared in one go. The second went slower, but still with definite purpose.

“That’s potent stuff,” Miyoshi remarked. “Are you sure you should be sucking it down like water?”

Sakuma peered up at him through his eyelashes, which wasn’t the slightest bit fair. “Is that concern? There’s no need. I can hold my liquor.”

Miyoshi set his book aside and propped his chin on his freed hand. “I never thought you couldn’t. I just assumed you were more used to the diluted swill they serve at the types of establishments our esteemed armed forces frequent."

“What would someone like you know about those kinds of bars? You’d stick out like a sore thumb.”

Miyoshi tapped his fingers twice on the table. In a Joker Game it was the signal that his partner’s rival had the weaker hand. If he’d been convinced to switch sides, however, it was the signal that his partner’s hand was the weak one. It was up to the players themselves to interpret it. A plan had formed, but executing it would involve some delicate maneuvering.

It was a good thing, then, that those were the types of plans he liked best.

“Sakuma-san, would you care to play a little game with me?” He had to laugh at Sakuma’s wary expression. “It’s nothing with very high stakes, and there’s no one here to help me cheat anyway. The rules are simple: I’ll answer your question, but in return you must answer one of mine, and so on. If you want to refuse to answer you take a drink of your partner’s beverage, but the first person to refuse loses the round. Best of three rounds, and the winner names the loser’s forfeit.”

“How would I know you’re telling the truth?” Sakuma demanded. “I don’t know you from a street beggar, you could be making it all up.”

“It’s not as though I know every detail about your life either, to know if you’re being truthful.”

“But I’m not a _spy_.”

“No, you’re just learning to be one.” Sakuma went still at that. It was almost charming how he tended to forget that. Almost. “Think of this as training if you like. I never specified you had to tell the truth, only that you had to answer. It might be interesting to see how much your acting skills have improved.”

A long moment later, Sakuma finally nodded reluctantly. Miyoshi didn’t allow him any time to reconsider. “Good, then my first question--”

“Answer mine first. Why do you know about army bars?”

Miyoshi sat back, and met Sakuma’s eyes directly as he said, “I spent much of my youth retrieving my father from them. They all smell the same, down to a one, like cheap cigarettes, cheap sake, and cheap perfume.”

He was certain he’d startled Sakuma, but the other man merely looked thoughtful. “I can’t argue with that,” he said slowly. “But there’s a certain comfortable camaraderie in them, where you know that everyone is in the same position as you, or once was, or will be, whether they’re a fresh faced rookie, a battle weary veteran, or something in between.” Sakuma was half smiling as he finished, looking sort of wistful.

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t know about all of that.” Miyoshi cleared his throat. “My turn.”

“Go ahead,” Sakuma invited, visibly bracing himself.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Sakuma blinked. “Blue?”

Miyoshi snickered. “Is that your answer or a question?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Maybe a bit, but it’s harmless, really.”

“What do you find so amusing about provoking me?”

“Is that your question?”

Sakuma nodded shortly, precursor to a scowl forming on his handsome face.

“Honestly, it’s nothing sinister,” Miyoshi laughed. “You don’t have to look like that. You’re so stoic and placid all the time, it makes me want to stir the waters and see what’s really going on under the surface.”

“That’s it?” Sakuma asked dubiously.

“Ah-ah-ah. It’s my turn, Lieutenant. You’ll have to save that for your next question. What do you think about your training here?”

“It’s…interesting.”

“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”

Sakuma shrugged and took a sip of his drink. “Why are we playing this game?”

Miyoshi opened his mouth, some airy answer on the tip of his tongue, then closed it. He reached for Sakuma’s glass and took a long sip, perversely enjoying the light of triumph that came into Sakuma’s eyes, as well as the indirect kiss—if not the drink itself. “I’ll pass on that question for now,” he said, confirming the victory. “Ask or answer, Sakuma-san?”

“I’ll ask another question. What were you doing before you came here?”

“Killing time. What were _you_ doing before you came here?”

Sakuma poured another drink. “Thinking back, I suppose I was the same. Do you have family out there, wondering where you are?”

“My parents are no longer living, but I do have a younger sister. We aren’t close, but last I heard she was doing very well with her husband and children. Are you a good lover, Sakuma-san?”

Miyoshi had timed it just right, and Sakuma choked on the mouthful he’d just taken. “Excuse me?” he wheezed. Miyoshi smiled and waited. “I’ve never had any complaints,” he said shortly, a bit red along the neck and ears.

Miyoshi tutted. "So humble, Lieutenant!" He leaned forward and said in a stage whisper, “I’ll give you a freebie: I’m a _fantastic_ lover.”

“I didn’t ask,” Sakuma said acidly. After a moment where it looked like he was fighting with himself, Sakuma asked, “Why did you tell me that?”

The flush was still present, but Sakuma’s entire demeanor had somehow become _intent_. As an intelligent man possessed of a healthy instinct for self-preservation, Miyoshi retreated. “No reason, Sakuma-san. I thought it would be funny.”

“Are you lying right now?” Sakuma asked.

“I believe it’s my turn, Sakuma-san. Why won’t you let Yuuki make your assignment here permanent?”

Sakuma’s face went blank. It might have been impressive, except for how irritating it was. After a moment, he reached deliberately for Miyoshi’s drink.

As it closed around the tumbler, Miyoshi covered his hand so lightly it couldn’t have possibly restrained him, yet Sakuma stilled anyway. “If you answer, I’ll tell you why we’re playing this game, and whether I was lying.” He released Sakuma’s hand and waited.

Sakuma drank the brandy. And grimaced. “I don’t know how you can drink this stuff.”

“I suppose it’s a matter of taste.”

“I suppose it is. I forfeit this round and the next one as well. You were right—that sake was rather potent. Let me know what penalty you decide on,” Sakuma said, standing.

“Play poker with us again,” Miyoshi replied instantly, rising as well.

Sakuma’s lips quirked upward, and he nodded his assent. “Good night, Miyoshi.”

“Good night, Sakuma-san.”

When he disappeared into the hallway, Miyoshi reached for his half-empty glass and downed the remainder of the sake. He did not grimace.

***

“If this is your idea of a joke, it’s not funny.”

“Who’s laughing?” Kaminaga grumbled.

“I am,” Odagiri deadpanned, examining the deck of cards. “On the inside.”

Tazaki snickered from his perch behind Hatano.

“Really Miyoshi—strip poker?” Amari chimed in.

“It seems Lieutenant Sakuma has finally annoyed Miyoshi enough to punish him,” Jitsui murmured. “I wondered why it was taking so long.”

“I am _not_ playing _strip poker_ with _cheaters_!” Sakuma growled.

“Are you reneging Sakuma-san?” Miyoshi asked, only the faintest lilt of curiosity coloring his tone.

As he knew it would, that shut Sakuma up nicely. He hated it when anyone cast aspersions on his honor. He sat in the last available seat slowly, directly across from Miyoshi.

And surprised the hell out of the rest of them when he lifted his chin and asked, “I assume pre-flop is right out?”

“Give the ape a prize.” Hatano scowled as he dealt the first hand.

“Do you have much experience with this version of the game?” Fukumoto asked from the bar.

“Define ‘much.’” Sakuma studied his hand. “Order of undress?”

“Shoes then socks, one at a time, jacket, tie, vest, belt, shirt, undershirt, pants, underpants,” Jitsui recited with a sly note on the last word.

“Got it,” was all Sakuma said, causing at least half of the spies to deflate.

Miyoshi coughed to disguise his laugh. “Any other questions, Sakuma-san?”

“Do you play this way often?”

Miyoshi grinned. “Define ‘often.’”

Sakuma snorted. “Draw,” he said to Hatano and traded two of his cards. Odagiri drew one, Miyoshi three, Amari three, and Hatano two.

There was the usual moment for the players to sort themselves, and exchange signals with their counterparts outside of the game. “Check,” Sakuma said.

“Raise,” Odagiri followed immediately.

Sakuma frowned, but Odagiri had apparently anticipated the question, because he answered before Sakuma even opened his mouth. “You can bet as much as you’re wearing. It makes the game more interesting.”

“What if the bet becomes more than you’re wearing?”

“Then you offer something else to the pot and hope you win,” Amari contributed with a wink.

Miyoshi folded and immediately toed off his left shoe, as did Amari. Fukumoto frowned at him, but Miyoshi ignored it.

Both Hatano and Sakuma called, and after the cards were laid out, Odagiri and Sakuma removed their shoes while Hatano gloated.

At the beginning of the fourth round, Fukumoto set a glass on the table in front of Sakuma. “It seems we’re out of your favorite, but I thought this might be an acceptable alternative.”

“Oh. No th—”

“Please try it,” Fukumoto interrupted with a small bow.

Sakuma took a reluctant sip and his eyebrows went up in surprise. “It’s good. Thank you.”

Fukumoto nodded and stepped back again with a small smile.

Sakuma might not have known what was going on, but it was clear to the others: Miyoshi had lost his spy.

Fukumoto would probably be cool to him for a while, but Miyoshi was unconcerned. His scheme was working.

The interesting thing about Sakuma was that knowing about the joker game didn’t affect how he played. He’d probably even managed to figure out a few of the signals by then, but he didn’t acknowledge them and beyond even that—he didn’t try to hide his cards.

If this had been a normal game, Miyoshi would have been both charmed and exasperated by that stubborn pride. And then he’d have used it to ruthlessly crush Sakuma into the ground.

But this was not a normal game, and tonight he was playing for a different sort of prize than his own pleasure.

Well…not _only_ that. There was certainly pleasure to be found in the way Sakuma’s undershirt clung to his well-defined torso, his broad shoulders, and biceps. Exhilaration in the way Sakuma’s gaze followed Miyoshi’s hands as they traced delicately down the buttons of his own shirt. Anticipation in the pink tint to his cheeks and the way his mouth was ever so slightly open.

He lost steadily, as did Sakuma.

And finally it came down to the last hand at least one of them would play. Miyoshi still had his undershirt, trousers, and undergarments; Sakuma had only his trousers and whatever was underneath and the bet was already two deep. Odagiri and Hatano quietly folded.

“Raise,” Miyoshi said.

Amari folded.

Sakuma _glared_. “You know I don’t have anything else to bet. What do you want?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“I want you to answer the question I asked last night.”

Sakuma stilled. “You’ll accept that as a bet?”

Miyoshi nodded.

“Fine,” Sakuma snapped. “I agree.”

“Call,” Miyoshi said and laid out his four Jacks and three of clubs.

Sakuma looked at the cards and shook his head. “The same hand you beat me with the first time we played.” He laid out his own hand, five-six-seven-eight-nine of diamonds. “Sorry. This time it’s my win.”

Miyoshi stood up with a gusty sigh. “So it is.” He’d wagered and he’d lost, it was as simple as that. He’d just have to regroup and come up with another way to get to the heart of the issue.

He couldn’t convince Sakuma to stay if he didn’t know why he wanted to go in the first place. But first things first.

He pulled his undershirt over his head without preamble, unbothered by the seven sets of eyes watching him with vague disinterest. This was nothing to them.

It was not, apparently, nothing to Sakuma. Miyoshi had been looking at him up until he looked down to unfasten his trousers, so it was a surprise when the table rattled violently and there was suddenly a hand gripping his wrist.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Sakuma hissed.

He turned and bowed to the other men; a patently ridiculous gesture when he was shirtless and still practically holding Miyoshi’s hand. “I apologize for the disruption, but we’ll be taking our leave,” he announced and immediately pulled Miyoshi from the lounge.

“Sakuma-san?”

Sakuma didn’t release him until they reached the dormitory. Miyoshi watched from the door as he walked over to his bunk and sank down with a heavy sigh. “You are utterly infuriating, do you know that?”

“I try,” Miyoshi said demurely, closing the door behind him. The knob dug into his back, but straightening would ruin his nonchalant posture, so he dealt with it.

“I don’t think you have to,” was Sakuma’s rueful response. “What is it to you if I leave this place? We both know I’m not cut from the same cloth as all of you, and for once I don’t mean that as an insult.”

Miyoshi cocked his head challengingly. “But you like it, don’t you? All the things you claimed to hate—they excite you.”

“I am a _soldier_. My first and last duty is to my country and the people who live in it.”

“And I’m telling you that the best way to perform that duty is to stay here,” Miyoshi coaxed, abandoning his easy-exit position to walk over and sit down on the bed across from Sakuma. “You understand the value in our work, how absolutely necessary it is. What of the next lieutenant General Staff sends to sabotage us? Would he come to understand?”

_Would he be able to open his mind the way you did, or would he split his own stomach open before admitting our worth?_

“I don’t understand,” Sakuma said abruptly. “I don’t understand how you could consent to live a life so empty of companionship. How you can be so confident. I couldn’t do it,” he finished, hushed as though ashamed of admitting it.

Miyoshi leaned back on his hands and smirked. “You can’t,” he agreed casually. “Yuuki already knows you’d make an abysmal spy, you know. He’d never allow you out into the world in that capacity.”

Sakuma blinked. “Then why…?”

“Do you know what a handler is, Sakuma-san?” He shook his head. “In simple terms, he’s the contact point between the spy and the government. I would check in with the handler regularly for status reports on the mission, and when I had something concrete I’d send word to them to arrange a meeting to pass it along. If I become compromised they make arrangements to get me out as efficiently as possible.”

Sakuma’s eyes lit with understanding. “And you want me to be a ‘handler’?”

Miyoshi bit his lip so he wouldn’t say, _I’d like you to 'handle' me_ , and merely nodded.

“Okay.”

Miyoshi’s mouth fell open in a way he would be embarrassed about later. “Okay?”

Sakuma nodded firmly. “I accept.” Then he leaned forward and swept Miyoshi’s hands out to the side, laying him flat and penning him in with his own arms and a knee strategically wedged between his thighs, all in one graceful motion.

Miyoshi hadn’t been so flummoxed in years, possibly ever.

“Shock is a good look on you,” Sakuma taunted. But he was smiling. A bit crooked and self-conscious, and all the more striking for it.

Miyoshi reached up and traced it with a finger. “I wish I could smile like that.” He hadn’t known how wistful those words would sound until they’d already escaped, and by then it was too late to take them back.

Sakuma reached down to brush away a stray lock of hair. “I’d like to see a real smile on your face someday, I think.”

Miyoshi looked away. He really had to do something about that tell. “You’re quite sure of yourself, aren’t you Lieutenant?”

“Well, you haven’t been all that subtle.”

Miyoshi sputtered in _profound_ outrage, which he forgot approximately three seconds later, when Sakuma pressed their lips together with exquisite care.

“Miyoshi,” Sakuma breathed against his mouth. He dropped his entire upper body flush against Miyoshi’s, eliciting a strangled gasp.

“The way you play is not remotely fair,” Miyoshi complained. “I think we’ve all misjudged you terribly.”

“I only cheat when the stakes are high,” Sakuma said cheekily, grinning as he took Miyoshi’s mouth again.

Not that Miyoshi even tried to resist, as his arms winding around Sakuma’s neck would attest. He slid his fingers through the soft strands of hair at the base of Sakuma’s neck and sighed with contentment.

Sakuma, being a _bastard_ , took full advantage and slid his tongue inside. The lush tickle on the roof of his mouth; Sakuma’s hand cupping his jaw, thumb lightly caressing the skin over his carotid artery; lower down, where Sakuma’s hips hitched involuntarily, rubbing his firm stomach enticingly against Miyoshi’s throbbing erection—it all combined in a heady rush that had Miyoshi dizzy with desire as he had not been since his callow youth.

“Ahem.”

He missed Sakuma’s mouth as soon as it was gone and tilted his head back to scowl furiously at whomever had interrupted them. It might not have been as effective upside down, because instead of fleeing in terror, the seven spies in the doorway merely continued to leer and/or smirk.

“Sooooo sorry to interrupt,” Amari said smoothly. “But we’re getting ready to go out. Would you care to join us? The Lieutenant as well, of course.”

Sakuma gave him a look that clearly said _it’s up to you_.

Really, Miyoshi didn’t have a choice, did he?

He tilted his head back again. “The Lieutenant and I will be staying in tonight. Have fun for us."

He thought he heard someone grumble, “Who’s telling who to have fun for _them_?” before the door closed.

Sakuma exhaled gustily and dropped his forehead to Miyoshi’s neck. “I would have gone, you know.”

“I know. But if we went out, how would I get fucked tonight?”

Miyoshi jumped when Sakuma nipped his collarbone sharply. “I’d like to change my answer from the other day.”

“Hmm?”

Sakuma trailed kisses up Miyoshi’s neck and jaw, to whisper in his ear, “I’m a _phenomenal_ lover.”

Miyoshi smirked up at him. “Prove it.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author’s Note The First** : This is a canon divergent AU where the boys all still live at D-Agency, going on missions as assigned, but always returning to the ‘mothership’ so to speak. Sakuma definitely consents to take Yuuki’s training. Idk, I took a lot of liberties. Also, Episode 11???? WHAT EPISODE 11 I DON’T RECALL SUCH AN EPISODE AT. ALL. (And even if I did, this takes place waaaaay before that, so take that however you'd like. If despair gets you off, it's nothing to me if you choose to place that non-existent-to-me thing in this universe.) 
> 
> **Author’s Note The Second** : if you’re looking for a lot of internalized homophobia and dudes feeling really explicitly shameful about being attracted to other dudes, then you’re gonna have to find a different story, I’m afraid. I will research for hours to make sure I have the right name or date, or motherfucking poker terminology (jfc) but I just don’t feel like doing this one thing in the name of historical accuracy because it bums me out. Maybe that means I shouldn’t be playing in this sandbox, but tough. I like this sandbox. Suspend your disbelief or go on your merry way, please!


End file.
